


Learning the Hard Way

by mogwai_do



Category: James Bond (Movies)
Genre: BDSM
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-02
Updated: 2013-01-02
Packaged: 2017-11-23 09:58:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/620861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mogwai_do/pseuds/mogwai_do
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>There were a lot of things a person needed to learn if they were ever to make it to the rank of double-0 and surprisingly few had anything to do with the ability to kill. </i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Learning the Hard Way

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Crowie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crowie/gifts).



It was hot, even as little as he wore he was still sweating freely; it was the wet heat of exertion, of pain. The air was thick with the smell of it, making each breath a chore and he was thankful the decision had been for a blindfold only rather than a full hood. The metal was actually warm against his skin of his wrists and his back stung as sweat ran into the lash marks, but it wasn’t difficult to ignore.

There were a lot of things a person needed to learn if they were ever to make it to the rank of double-0 and surprisingly few had anything to do with the ability to kill. For a double-0, Queen and country was far more than a glib phrase, it had to be lived and breathed, but that kind of dedication had always come easily to him. He’d never had any of the attachments that traditionally got in the way of sacrificing oneself for the greater good. No, his problem had always been on the more personal level: independence to a degree almost bordering on sociopathy at times was a major flaw. A double-0 took orders from only a very select few, but they did take orders.

Fortunately, as with every other skill he had at first lacked, he had worked on it; less fortunately, this was one skill he couldn’t learn alone. He knew himself well enough that he hadn’t felt the need to start gently, but even so it seemed he had overestimated the skills of those he had hired or they had dramatically underestimated both his self-possession and his tolerance for pain. It had cost him a small fortune so far and forever branded one of his better aliases, but he had counted it worth the cost.

Yet now his success was in doubt: he had been referred on, which he had expected initially, but he had been referred again and again, passed up the hierarchy until now he was a guest of one of the most exclusive clubs in London, a challenge to the best.

His last would-be master had been a man, older than himself, but with the sculpted body of a narcissist. He’d had a voice like velvet, a huge amount of power in his shoulders, and a fondness for the bit. His jaw still ached from unaccustomed weight, but it was no harder to ignore than the over-stretched ache lower down. In the course of his lessons he had both fucked and been fucked, but sex had proven even less consequential than physical discomfort, since it left him no less able to do his job.

He had briefly worried about the risk of impending dehydration when the whipping had finally come to an end, but he had been fed water in drips and drops, enough to alleviate to danger if not satisfy his thirst. That had been over an hour ago however and he couldn’t quite suppress a certain amount of disappointment that such an expert could think mere waiting would get to him. Patience was a tool, even a weapon if necessary, and he had as sure a command of it as he did any other weapon.

A faint rustle of cloth reached his ears, but he didn’t turn his head. Blindfolded, he was better off relying his other senses, besides movement might offer a false impression of alarm. There were footsteps light, but sure, with the clack of low heels on the wooden floor, a woman then and a small one. A man’s footsteps followed, heavy with the cadence he recognised as the would-be master. An audience? His estimation of the man was dropping rapidly if he thought this would make any difference. There was the sound of wood on wood, a chair being moved. More light footsteps and the sounds of fabric as the woman seated herself; there was a pause and then the man’s footsteps receded until they were blocked by the sound of the closing door. The movement stirred the air and gave him a faint taste of the woman’s scent, something expensive and almost herbal, an older woman’s scent. The silence stretched, heavy and deadened in the humid heat of the room. It seemed this new woman knew the value of patience too. He could feel assessing eyes on him, oddly dispassionate, which was new, but he was quite capable of holding his tongue and resisting the baited silence. The soft sound of cloth betrayed a deliberate shift in position and he realised he had misjudged, she had no intention of waiting him out. He was meant to wait for her.

“Well, James, I gather you want to be a double-0.”

It was a clipped, cultured and above all recognisable voice and for the first time James felt the frisson of uncertainty.

FIN


End file.
